The Chalupa Conundrum

by Lyle Christie

  “Yeah, I know.”

  We both smiled, and I felt an instant stirring in my man parts, though it was just a moment of fanciful weakness, as, after the previous night’s ridiculous festivities involving her sister, I was pretty sure Professor Hot Sauce would likely never want to have any kind of romantic involvement with me. Regardless, I at least finally had her talking, so I kept it going with another question.

  “So, what happened with the soldier guy?”

  “It was good for a while, but our jobs didn’t allow us enough time together, so he decided it would be better if we maintained an open relationship.”

  “That sounds like he wanted to get some nookie on the side while you were off on a dig.”

  “Correct.”

  “But I suspect you didn’t feel the same?”

  “Hell no, I was in love with him and had no desire to date anyone else, so, instead, we broke up.”

  “Which means I can also conclude that he was dumb as fuck.”

  “Perhaps, but it reflects poorly on me, considering I fell in love with the dumb fuck,” she said.

  “Not at all, love can come with some pretty strong blinders.”

  She smiled.

  “I suppose you might be right,” she said.

  “No, I’m absolutely certain on this issue.”

  “Well, at least we both know that Estelle wasn’t a dumb fuck,” she said.

  “Yeah, neither in terms of intelligence nor lovemaking ability, but, like you and your soldier boy, we were in different places, physically and emotionally as it turned out.”

  “Are you still in love with her?” she asked.

  I was quiet for a moment while I pondered that thought, as I honestly wasn’t sure how to answer.

  “I’d like to think I’m not given the fact that she was about to marry another man, but, to be perfectly honest, when we’re together—face to face—the feelings kind of come back.”

  “How long have you been broken up?”

  “A little over six months, but the truth is that we only dated for a short time, and, during that time, we were kind of on and off.”

  “But you were close enough that it seems like you kept coming back together.”

  She was right, but it was usually Estelle coming back to me.

  “I suppose,” I responded.

  “Was it an open relationship?”

  “Heh—only after she went off to finish grad school and called me to tell me it was unfair to make me wait.”

  “Obviously you didn’t want that.”

  “Fuck no—as I knew where it would lead, but I didn’t have a choice.”

  “That sucks.”

  “Yeah, and I suspected it came about because she was interested in someone else, and it turned out to be her PhD advisor and the same fucker she’s engaged to marry, which I annoyingly only found out by accident on the plane ride down here.”

  “Ouch. So, how do you feel about coming all this way to rescue her?”

  “Well, when I left San Francisco, I was worried and mildly annoyed, but when I landed in Costa Rica, I was very worried and extremely annoyed.”

  “As you have a right to be. It seems very obvious that she’s kind of keeping you as her safety net.”

  “Maybe it’s mutual.”

  “Not from where I’m sitting.”

  I sat and quietly ruminated over Hot Sauce’s words of wisdom and realized that she had once again steered the conversation away from her and back to me.

  “Goddammit! You did it again!” I said.

  “What?” she asked.

  “You steered the fucking conversation back to me again.”

  “Of course, I don’t want to talk about my own shit.”

  We both laughed and took a moment to look at the road ahead.

  “So, back to you, Hot Sauce. Have there been any special guys in the meantime? Honestly, I can’t see someone as attractive as you being single for very long,” I said.

  She thought a moment, and if I weren’t mistaken, she appeared to look a little conflicted.

  “Kind of,” she said.

  “Kind of—meaning?”

  “There’s one guy I’m kind of dating—but it’s complicated.”

  “Complicated sounds kind of ominous, like he’s married or something.”

  “He’s not married. It’s just complicated.”

  “Is he a fellow professor?”

  “No, thank God, but we do work together on occasion.”

  “Anybody I know?”

  “No, and I can’t tell you his name, as we’ve made a pact to keep it secret for both of our sakes.”

  “Sorry, but that sounds as though he’s married.”

  “No, I promise you he’s not.”

  “Well, technically it’s none of my business, so go ahead and keep your lover’s identity secret. It’s not as though I’ve told you everything about me and my relationship woes. Oh wait, I have.”

  She smiled.

  “I know, but like I said—it’s complicated.”

  Ahh—that was my new favorite saying. Sure, I used to hate it, but now I practically said it daily, and whenever my shenanigans led me into some shit, I would just tell whoever asked me what the hell was going on that it was complicated. Voila—end of discussion, and that is pretty much exactly what Hot Sauce had just done to me. We’d obviously reached a kind of impasse, so I decided to change the subject.

  “So, what do you personally make of this whole Chalupa situation? Ghost king, natural disaster, or kidnapping by previously unknown rebels?” I asked.

  “Well, first, the idea of King Chalupa terrorizing the countryside and making off with your team of scientists is hilariously ludicrous at best. As for a natural disaster, the meteorological reports for the last two weeks haven’t included flash floods, sink holes, or earthquakes, so that also seems unlikely. And, finally, on the subject of rebels, there haven’t been any in Costa Rica since before I was born.”

  “There were those two assholes in the alley last night.”

  “True, but they seem kind of like wildcards at this point.”

  “Yeah, and I’m going to have to see if any of my old contacts from the Agency can run a trace on good old Hector Gomez in hopes of finding out who he is and who he works for.”

  “So, at the moment, there’s currently very little promising news in this investigation,” she said.

  “Yeah, and, for all we know, they may very well have taken mushrooms and run off to live in the forest.”

  “It’s certainly possible. If you look out there, you can see miles and miles of unexplored jungle, and people get lost all the time.”

  I looked out beyond the highway and saw that she was correct, as this was perhaps amongst the most dense and forbidding stretch of jungle and mountains I’d ever seen, and a person, or persons, could easily disappear within its fold. But, the question still remained—would a team of scientists suddenly run off into the jungle? Perhaps if they were a cult or tripping balls on acid, but that didn’t exactly gel with this crowd, so there was definitely something sinister afoot, and I hoped to high heaven that Estelle and her colleagues were still alive, so that, at the ver least, I could ask her about her fucking upcoming wedding.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Camp Chalupa

  FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER we passed the Ranger’s station that served as the official entrance to Braulio Carillo National Park, but our turnoff, was a little farther along on the right side of the road, and it was marked by only a small handmade wooden sign that had the words Chalupa Ruins hand scrawled in blood red paint. Alessandra hit her blinker then cut over onto the dirt road, and, one turn later, we were enveloped by the jungle and had completely disappeared from view of the main highway. It was actually a little disconcerting how quickly we could leave civilization behind, and it made me seriously ponder the possibility that the team might have merely gotten lost.

  Every second we traveled into the valley felt like miles in distance and y
ears in time. This was a no-man’s land, and our only salvation was the road, though it too was equally forbidding. It was an endless procession of sharp cutbacks, slippery ruts, and mud, and the only relief was the occasional short straightaway. I was therefore thankful to be in a serious four wheel drive vehicle, as this wasn’t the kind of road that soccer moms navigated in their AWD Volvo Wagons. Up here, a slip was a one way ticket to the afterlife.

  The road eventually leveled out and widened slightly as we reached the valley floor, and we found ourselves in the middle of a brief, though intense, deluge of rain. Alessandra put the wipers on high, but it was still barely enough to keep up with the flow of water, and both of us strained to see the road. As quickly as it arrived, however, it was gone, and sunlight appeared through the remaining clouds and allowed me to see that the road ahead dipped down and crossed through a shallow river. Alessandra gunned the engine, and the FJ Cruiser sent up a formidable rooster tail as it plowed through the water. She smiled as she expertly handled the wheel and seemed to enjoy the challenge of driving off-road.

  “You look like you’re having fun,” I said.

  “I am. I love off-roading, and I have to admit that part of the fun of working in remote areas is just getting there.”

  “I imagine a lot of people would probably feel exactly the opposite.”

  “And those people sit on their ass in desk jobs all day.”

  “Apparently shortening their lives in the process.”

  “Which makes me thankful to do the work I do.”

  There was a break in the foliage, and Alessandra pointed off to our left.

  “You can see the very top of the Chalupa Pyramid from here,” she said.

  I looked out, and there, beyond a dense canopy of green jungle, was the stone apex of the structure.

  “It looks Mayan and also a bit similar to Teotihuacan,” I said.

  “You’re correct, which is why it was so important to try and get a good team in here for the final assessment.”

  “What’s your personal opinion? Chalupan or not?”

  “Honestly, I’m not sure. The Chalupans have lived here a long time, so it would make sense that they claim this is all of their making, but there were a lot of different cultures in and around this area. Without something concrete like writing or markings, it’s hard to be sure. Even ruins such as Teotihuacan are still under debate. We know the Aztecs inhabited the place, but we still don’t know who built it, and Chalupa is kind of the same story.”

  “So, if it’s not Chalupan, then what happens with Von Träger’s cultural heritage site?”

  “He wouldn’t be able to acquire the land, and the project would be quashed.”

  “Then it stands to reason that the scientist’s disappearance is actually a bad thing for him.”

  “Yeah, so I hope you’re not suggesting he could be complicit.”

  “No, I’m just trying to figure out who might have the means, motive, and opportunity to conduct a mass kidnapping, so my question was intended to help eliminate Lars, as I now know he doesn’t stand to gain from their disappearance,” I said.

  “Good, because he’s doing a lot of good for the Chalupans.”

  “Actual good, or just good for a fancy pants billionaire?”

  “Good, period.”

  “Well then—I guess that’s good.”

  The road eventually ran right along the edge of the ruins, and I could now clearly see the central pyramid as well as the surrounding structures. It was quite a large and complex city and appeared to be perfectly square and at least a half mile long on each side. More interesting was the presence of stone canals that flowed in and around all the buildings and made it abundantly clear that whoever lived in this place knew a thing or two about water management.

  “I see they had a sophisticated water system,” I said.

  “Good eye, and actually that’s one of the key features that make us believe this place was built by the Chalupans. They were masters of water, and you still see it to this day in the outlying dwellings of the current village. There’s no modern plumbing or irrigation, so the people still use the same water channeling technology that their ancestors used a thousand years ago.”

  “Most impressive.”

  The creatures watched as the vehicle bumped along on the dirt road, and, seeing the man and woman inside, they began slipping silently closer, and the animals and even the birds in the trees beat a hasty retreat in order to avoid their ominous presence. It wasn’t long before the creatures reached the hill overlooking the ancient city, where they patiently hunkered down and observed their potential prey.

  We continued along the edge of the ruins, and I realized my scrot-sense was tingling—but why? I looked off into the surrounding jungle and had the eerie feeling we were being watched, but, as far as I could tell, we were the only people for miles in any direction. Still, I thought I detected movement, but when I glanced back at the spot, there was nothing but the billowing leaves of a large jungle fern.

  “You see anything interesting?” Alessandra asked after seeing the concern on my face.

  “I thought I saw some movement over on the hill above us.”

  “Maybe it’s one of our missing scientists.”

  “I wish, but whatever it was disappeared, as it was probably just an animal or perhaps even the wind rustling through the leaves.”

  “It could easily be either of those.”

  “Yeah, we are in the jungle, after all.”

  Around the next bend lay Camp Chalupa, the site of the infamous disappearance of an entire team of UCLA scientists, and, seeing the place in person, I couldn’t help but feel the kind of trepidation one often experienced in places where tragic accidents and death occurred. Alessandra, however, was not feeling quite as morose, for at that moment she used the parking brake to skid sideways to a complete stop that sent up a large cloud of dust. That was actually the kind of maneuver I would often pull whenever I was on a dirt road, and I looked over to see that Hot Sauce was smiling proudly. When the dust cleared, I could see we were in an open space that served as the parking lot, and around us were two Land Cruisers, a Suburban, a white Honda Ridgeline truck, and a badass looking 4x4 Econoline van.

  “I see their cars are still here, so wherever they are, they went there on foot,” I said.

  “Which would hint they can’t be too far away—depending on how fast half-man, half-beast minions run.”

  “Assuming you take into account that they’re laden.”

  “Was that a Monty Python Holy Grail reference?” I asked, referring to the scene where the Knights of the Roundtable were having a tough time trying to answer the unusual questions of the bridge keeper—that is, until King Arthur offered up a counter question that sent their nemesis flying into the volcano.

  “Do you really need to ask?”

  Tag Junior suddenly stirred in my pants, as girls who watched Monty Python were especially hot in my book, so Professor Hot Sauce just got even hotter.

  “Apparently not.”

  “How about we put our things in the guest quarters, then I’ll take you on a tour,” she said.

  “Sounds good. Can we also go around and talk to some of the Chalupans? I’m thinking it’s possible the embassy team might not have done that, as they didn’t have a charming and beautiful guide who was familiar with the locals.”

  “Yeah, no problem.”

  We grabbed our things out of the back of the FJ Cruiser, and I followed Alessandra through the camp and over to a portable structure. Inside, we found a number of foldout beds complete with sheets and blankets, and in the corner was a computer workstation, though the computer was missing, leaving only an empty desk, chair, and cables.

  “This doesn’t exactly look like roughing it,” I said.

  “UCLA has some pretty decent resources, so their digs have very nice support facilities.”

  “Very nice, indeed. No wonder Estelle enjoyed archaeology.”

  With our things s
towed, we exited our temporary dwelling and toured the camp, with our first stop being the communal bathroom. It was a lone building that housed three sinks, three stall toilets, and four showers that were separated by thin plastic shoulder-height divider walls.

  “Unisex bathroom—interesting. I don’t care for the toilet setup much, but I kind of like the sense of community in the showers.”

  “It could be a lot worse. I told you about the bucket toilet on one of my early digs, so to me this is like a five star hotel.”

  “Right now, I’m at about three.”

  Next, were the sleeping quarters, which were in a number of portable buildings more or less identical to the one we had just left. Inside these, however, were the personal belongings of the people who had lived there, and many of the beds were unmade while the floors were littered with the occasional pair of shoes, clothing items, or various other belongings that made a temporary dwelling a home away from home.

  “Weird, there’s no sign of a struggle,” I said.

  “Not here, but the official report said there is in the next one.”

  We moved on to the next building, and inside there was obvious evidence of a struggle. Two of the beds had been overturned, and there were some blood droplets on the far wall, which wasn’t exactly a good sign.

  “Who was staying in here?” I asked, desperately hoping it wasn’t Estelle.

  “A couple of grad students if I remember correctly.”

  “So, not Thomas McGuire.”

  “No, he and your ex were in the next structure.”

  “Then I suppose the droplets obviously don’t belong to Thomas.”

  “Nope.”

  “Too bad.”

  Alessandra gave me a disapproving look.

  “I know you don’t want to hear this, but I’ve worked with Thomas, and he is a really good guy, and, honestly, your ex couldn’t have picked anyone better.”

  “I didn’t realize you knew him that well.”

  “Archaeology can be a small world, so everybody kind of knows everybody.”

  “I’d be a lot happier to hear that he’s a total dick.”